Life? Seriously, it is the last thing that comes to mind with the word “egg” or image of one. There is first the Easter Bunny, an omelet, chocolate, farm life and in a few cases of mental instability, a bar in New York and a few shots of whiskey. Regardless what you think of when you see eggs, the bigger picture is what kind are you?
Willie Wonka gave us the first in your face glimpse, when we saw a spoiled brat who demanded everything within her gaze and imagination. This ungrateful child ended up going down a garbage shoot with a 50-50 chance the furnace wasn’t on – her father true to form followed her down. The only comment was, “She was a bad egg.” Indeed, Easter or not there are more bad eggs out there than we care to admit and through literary eyes we see them more clearly than is possible in reality.
I have met more than a few slightly cracked eggs in my life, and have some superglue in places myself. I wouldn’t trade those chips and cracks for anything in the world. They have given me character, kept me from being too fragile to experience life and to learn from it and best of all have left me a little scrambled at times, allowing me to understand those around me and to apply imagination and initiative on roads I would never have taken otherwise. Indeed, sometimes you just have to break a few eggs!
It is however more difficult in living with them – there is a reason those cartons are individually partitioned off and it has nothing to do with keeping the eggs in an upright position (airline trays they are not). I think to a favorite scene in Dirty Dancing, “This is MY dance space and this is YOUR dance space.” Ah yes, the visual egg carton and accurate map for survival in life. Every family and workplace has them, the bad eggs that ruin everything that could be good. They are spoiled, blemished, less than oval, thin skinned, and even scared from being laid (personal favorite – I call that Rooster Envy). These are the ones who leave the carton for attention or affect and would like nothing more to see you laying sunny side up on a sidewalk and yes there are many laying in waiting, as we approach our dance space of life.
It is of course impossible for a mother hen to know which of her eggs is truly bad, because she sits on them as equal as she can with her warmth. Although there are times when she does know and will kick one out of the nest for the best of the others, no hen does this until it is the last resort. She also knows sadly in her heart like the little red hen, no matter how bad the egg or the chick it hatches, those are the ones in the end who come back when everything is done wanting her nest egg either financially or emotionally. Wonka knew too, there are golden eggs and there are bad eggs in the colorful chocolate experience of life. Sad cartons don’t have warning stickers so we could avoid all this.
Life is what it is, and we make the decisions making us who we are and the life we lead. Some prefer being safe and basted, some get pickled to survive, and still others prefer to go raw and do their best avoiding being hard boiled. For me, I enjoy the chocolate now and then, love the colors, and once in a while seek out a little deviled delight knowing that is the only way to get life exactly right.